


so we dance, and we laugh, and we touch

by nightfuryxo



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, harry has no idea what pain is, liam tries to play doctor, louis finds that very alluring but also very weird, niall thinks they should fuck and move on, zayn makes fajitas all the time
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-17
Updated: 2014-07-08
Packaged: 2018-01-19 18:03:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1479028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightfuryxo/pseuds/nightfuryxo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis Tomlinson can't help but find Harry Styles extremely attractive, even if he does possess the inability to actually feel anything. But maybe, just maybe, Louis could be the one to help Harry start to learn the concept of pain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "We’re living next to a freak."

"It'd be nice, go on Lou."

"Niall, there is no way I am asking our new neighbour to come round for dinner. For all we know, they could be a paedophile."

"Well we won't know until you haul your fat ass over there and find out, will we?"

Louis scoffs, partly because he doesn't appreciate being called fat by his flat-mate, but also partly because he can't believe he's being  _forced_ to go and introduce himself like he's five years old and Niall is his mother trying to get him to make friends.

"I don't get why you can't go and invite them round yourself, this is your brilliant idea after all."

Niall picks up the remote that is balanced precariously on the arm of the sofa and gingerly presses the mute button, cutting out the sound of the  _Rules of Engagement_ episode and replacing Patrick Warburton's voice with a buzz of silence.

"But  _Loooooouuuuuuu._ " He drags Louis' nickname from his throat, immaculately pronouncing the 'ooh' sound for what seems and sounds like forever. Louis groans and claps his hands over his ears, standing up purposefully.

"Fine, for fuck's sake Niall. Next time you do that, I swear to god, it won't work." He stalks over to their worn hall table and grabs his flat keys, swinging them over his forefinger as he shoves his shoes on.

"You're the best, Lou." Niall sing-songs and Louis swears he can almost hear the smirk in his friend's voice, "If it's a hot guy, try not to shag him!"

"Fuck off Niall."

Although their new neighbour is only two apartments away from Louis (the newbie is in 3C, Louis and Niall are in 3A), the winding corridor seems to take forever to walk through. It gives time for Louis to choose his options of what to do in the different scenarios that could possibly happen within the next five minutes. A creepy old guy that looks ready to molest the nearest person in sight?  _Run as fast as he can and possibly think about moving apartments._ An infatuated young couple?  _Have a polite conversation then leave. There is no way Louis is spending his evening watching as they kiss every two seconds._ A hot dude?  _Pfft, yeah right._

All the same, Louis stands outside apartment 3C and remembers his possible options. Slowly, he lifts his hand to the door and raps with his knuckles three times, only realising that there is a doorbell after he has done so. Sixty seconds pass, and Louis still hasn't seen the new person, guy or girl. Nevertheless, he can hear speech from inside the flat, and so with a curiosity that he  _really_ needs to get under control, presses his ear to the door to listen.

No more than three heartbeats later, the door is swung open, and incidentally, sends Louis tumbling into the chest of the flat-owner (okay, it is  _definitely_ a guy and they  _definitely_  work out regularly). With as much composure as possible, Louis stands up straight and gets a good look at the person he had just been listening in on, only to almost fall over again. 

"Uh, can I help you?" The guy's voice is gravelly, like his throat has been dragged along tarmac, and it certainly fits with his appearance.

"Hi." Louis squeaks out, and the guy raises an eyebrow, his green eyes questioning and Louis feels like he's about to break down at the feet of this guy because he is So. Damn. Attractive.

"Any reason you were listening to my conversation on the phone?" Even when he's trying to be stern, Louis wants to melt, which really isn't good.

There is no denying that the newbie is attractive; Louis is certain that it's his green eyes as well as a very firm six pack that his is most definitely hiding under that grey shirt he has on. The neck of the top scoops low and Louis sees that he has a fucking chest tattoo and Louis wonders if this guy would consider eloping with him to a foreign country for the rest of their lives. (So much for the ‘there’ll be no hot guys’.)

“Um, I, no. Not really.” Louis confides, and the guy actually  _smiles_ for no apparent reason.

"Do you want to come in?" All Louis can do is nod, almost breathlessly which sounds really pathetic, but it's true. He doesn’t even think that he’s going to be able to hold a coherent conversation at all, so entering this stranger’s apartment probably isn’t all that wise as he’ll just stare at him the whole time.

Almost in the same manner that a dog would follow its owner, Louis is tugged along on his metaphorical leash, pausing briefly to close the door behind him.

Overwhelmingly, the first thing that Louis notices is that it is fucking freezing in this guy’s apartment (like seriously, this is worthy to be called Antarctica or something) and is probably because he has all of his living room/kitchen windows flung open even though it is the middle of Novemeber.

“Are you not freezing?” Louis asks and the guy turns and shrugs from his place at the stove, all nonchalant and like he really doesn’t give two shits.

“Hadn’t noticed to be honest.” Louis wonders how and is startled when he asks, “Hey, you wanna come here a second?”

There is no point in really disobeying, so Louis wraps his arms around himself and attempts to block out the cold but it doesn’t work very well. His shoes transfer from the soft carpet of the living room onto the scratchy tiles in the kitchen that is almost identical to Louis’s own.

“I don’t even know your name.” The guy says as he points a wooden spoon at Louis and Louis realises that that is indeed true; they haven’t even exchanged pleasantries, yet he’s instead been accused of being a stalker and also almost rugby tackling the new dude too.

“Louis, I live in apartment 3A.”

“Well, Louis, from apartment 3A, can you tell me if you think this is hot enough?”

Louis is slightly irked that the guy still hasn’t revealed his own name quite yet. He obeys anyway and stands on his tiptoes (being short does have its advantages but this isn’t one of them) and sees that the pan the newbie (he’s just gonna call him ‘Hot Guy’) is stirring is full of an orangey liquid.

“Is that tomato soup?” Louis questions and the guy nods.

“Keen observation skills. Do you think it’s hot enough?” Hot Guy asks and Louis is slightly unsure of what he’s meant to be doing. He cups a hand next to the metal of the saucepan and feels that there is an immense amount of heat radiating from it, the transfer of warmth nice in the arctic apartment.

“Think so.” Louis mumbles and the Hot Guy places the soup spoon on the side and turns to look at Louis.

“I’m not sure, hold on.” Suddenly he puts his hand next to the pan and Louis watches as he bites his lip (that is definitely an image Louis will remember for at least two weeks) and cocks his head, “Hm.” And then the unexpected happens and he rests his whole gigantic palm on the metallic pan and Louis gasps.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” Louis exclaims and wraps his finger’s around Hot Guy’s wrist, pulling it away from the pan. Hot Guy looks confused, like, _really_ confused, as if he has no idea why Louis is panicking.

“What?” There is every bit of seriousness in his voice as Louis drops his fingers from Hot Guy’s wrist, “What’s wrong?”

“You just put your hand on a boiling hot pan, that’s what!” It really is weird that Louis sounds so maternal over this, but he’s just uber-puzzled, “Like what are you, a freak of nature?”

“Guess you could call it that.” Hot Guy shrugs, and puts his hand back on the saucepan, fingers curled around the curve of it. Louis can’t help but just _stare_ because this is so fucking weird and this is definitely not what he had been expecting to encounter when he came over to invite his new neighbour for dinner.

“So, like, you’re telling me that you can’t feel that?” Louis gestures to where Hot Guy has his hand on the burning metal, “Like, not at all?”

“No, I can feel it.” Okay, Louis really doesn’t understand.

“I don’t understand.”

“I can feel that it’s hot.”

“Then why aren’t you even flinching?”

“It doesn’t hurt.” Hot Guy shrugs yet again, his t-shirt bunching up at his stomach as he does so. In any other circumstance, Louis probably would have near-fainted at the sight of a tattoo on the guy’s hipbone but this was growing too weird for him to even care.

“How can you have your hand on burning metal and say that it ‘doesn’t hurt’?” Louis puts air quotes around the last two words, frowning.

“Because it doesn’t.”

 “Okay, who the fuck are you?”

“I’m Harry Styles.” Hot Guy answers and although it doesn’t really answer the question in the way that Louis hoped it would, it’s a step closer to working this dude out.

“You’re Harry Styles and you have the ability to put your hand on scorching hot metal without it hurting.” Maybe that explains why it’s so cold in here, “Wait, can you feel _any_ temperature?” Harry still hasn’t taken his hand off the pan and it is slightly unnerving for Louis to watch, especially because the tomato soup is still bubbling away, meaning the pan can only be growing hotter and hotter.

“I can feel the temperature of stuff, it just doesn’t affect me.” He says it so unemotionally that Louis feels something weird in his chest.

“So you can’t feel pain?”

“Nope.”

“ _Any_ pain?”

“Nope.”

Okay, Louis feels like he definitely needs to sit down for five minutes and smack himself awake because this is a dream, it can only be dream.

“So, if I kicked you right now, in the balls, it wouldn’t hurt?” Louis ventures, and Harry shrugs for about the fifth time. He removes his hand from the pan, happy that it has grown to a reasonable temperature.

“Guess not. You can try if you want.”

This conversation has officially ventured into the ‘what the fuck is happening’ category now, Louis is baffled. He has just been given the opportunity to kick someone in the balls, acted like a flustered mother who is worried about their child being in immense danger and has only very briefly once had to will away an unwanted boner over this guy.

“But, isn’t it, like, at all painful? Getting kicked in the balls really hurts.”

“I wouldn’t know.” Harry doesn’t sound too phased as he bends down to take a bowl from a low-down cupboard, shutting it very ungracefully with his hip as he stands back up to full height.

“Have you ever felt pain?” Louis has to refrain from almost screaming in disbelief, “Ever?” Harry shakes his head as he picks up the pan of soup (not from the handle, oh no, he cups two hands around the metal basin) and pours it all into the white china bowl he has laid out.

“Nope, never. But, still doesn’t mean that it doesn’t damage me, I’m not a superhero or something.” Harry explains, “Once, I shut my leg in a car door and broke a bone but it didn’t even hurt at all.” Louis winces because he knows exactly how breaking your leg feels, he did it when he was younger at a football match. “I even tried to get out of the car and walk on it and stuff. Mum had a proper panic attack. I just thought it was cool my leg was bent at a weird angle.”

“Are you even human?” Louis voices his thoughts and watches as Harry takes out a spoon from a nearby drawer and then takes a mouthful of soup. It is almost painful to watch, Louis knows that he’d be crying out if he even had a spoonful of soup now.

“I think so.” Harry smirks and sets his bowl down on the counter top.

“Is there even a name for what you have?”

“Yeah, it’s known as CIP.” Harry seems to wait for Louis to say something, but there isn’t much Louis can say so he continues, “Short for congenital insensitivity to pain, but I have the indifference type, not the insensitivity.”

Louis debates asking what the fuck that all means but decides against it, “I actually came over here to ask if you want to have dinner with us.”

“Us?” Harry seems to falter.

“I have a flat-mate, Niall.” It is funny how much Harry is frowning right now and Louis decides to wind him up, “Don’t worry, it’s completely platonic between the two of us.”

“I wasn’t worrying.” Louis nearly stutters, not expecting a comeback lie that, “But dinner sounds nice. 3A, right?”

“Yeah, come over at like, um, seven thirty?”

 Harry glances at the clock very quickly, the hands showing the current time as five past six.

“Sounds good.” He picks up his bowl of soup and takes another spoonful of it, “Want me to bring anything?”

“No, it’s fine.”

Their goodbye is hasty, and Louis feels like he needs to have a long cold shower to actually make him wake up and stop finding this weird, four-sense boy so attractive. Feet move faster than they have ever before, and Louis rushes into his apartment, Niall giving him a very concerned look as he slides down their front door to sit on the floor.

“Lou, mate, you alright?”

“Niall, we’re living next to a freak. A very undeniably hot and extremely attractive freak.”


	2. "Oh my god, can he sound anymore like my Mum."

Louis swears that he's being a little more paranoid than is probably needed to start off with, but when the clock ticks over to show that it is eight in the evening, he loses it. It's half an hour over the time that Harry had agreed to visit, and there has been no sign of him whatsoever. There isn't really any way he could have got lost on the way here - his apartment is honestly only just down the hall, that isn't a figure of speech - and unless he's accidentally fallen asleep and not woken up in time, then he's probably forgotten.

For some reason, Louis finds himself beginning to worry about their new neighbour. A seed of anxiety that has begun to sprout in the lining of his stomach, flowering and climbing up his insides, twisting and tickling his throat. With anyone else, Louis knows he wouldn't even hold any anticipation, but it's Harry. The Harry that apparently can feel nothing, the Harry that could well be sat in a burning room with flames licking at his sides and not even realise. It's frightening that Louis feels this much distress, and even though he has tried to explain to Niall about how their new 'buddy' cannot feel pain, it's hard to do so.

Basically, after Louis had finished having his meltdown, his back against the shut door to their apartment as waves of hyperventilation coursed up his windpipe, he'd attempted to illiterate everything that he had been a witness of. Sceptical looks had constantly been fired at him as Niall listened, even a couple of murmurs occasionally that sounded like disbelief when he'd said about the car door analogy. It had only made Niall all the more excited to meet Harry, and Louis all the more nervous.

When the clock forwards again to quarter past eight, Louis decides to go and check on Harry. There is no way he was going to be able to sit and let the worry fester inside him, eating at ever notion he makes, and so begrudgingly he slides on his ratty shoes, calls to Niall that he's just quickly going out and shuts the door behind him on the way out. Half of himself expects to smell burning in the expectation of Harry being burnt alive and not noticing, but the other half scolds himself for being so dejective and downbeat.

Carefully, he pads down the hallway, his jumper not doing well to mask the cold. The soft sound of shoe against carpet only seems to show how deserted the whole building feels, and usually it isn't like this. Usually, it feels like the whole place is littered with house parties (which could more aptly be described as 'apartment parties'), young adults passed out and drunk on almost all levels of the block. It was almost as if whoever was in charge of letting the apartments in this building had decided that anyone over the age of 30 wasn't allowed in. Louis wasn't complaining really though, he much rather that than some old guy constantly knocking on his apartment floor with a broom when it got too noisy, much like that episode of FRIENDS that Louis knows word for word almost. 

He can't bring himself to even raise his knuckles to the door when he gets outside of 3C, and instead only stands there and relives the scene earlier where he had so clumsily barreled into Harry's chest. There are so many nerves in Louis's system, and he honestly tries to muster them down but there is no way that they are going to disappear any time soon, so he decides to just cope with them for the time being.

When he has overcome them enough to knock on the wooden object in front of him, he stops when he hears a noise. A sensation of jealousy bubbles up in Louis as his brain registers a voice that definitely isn't Harry's inside of Harry's apartment. It is crazy that he has gotten so worked up already, and Louis swears at himself for his clingy nature and instead progresses with the task at hand, three raps on the door quickly being transferred. Eerily quickly the noise behind the door ceases and suddenly Louis is nearly flung backwards by the sheer air pressure from the door opening.

"Oh Louis, phew, it's only you."

The word 'only' is almost an insult, and Louis's blue eyes look up into Harry's green ones and then also register that he is now wearing a cable knit sweater that isn't that much different to the one he has on himself.

"Nice to see you too Harry." The sarcasm is almost spitting, and Harry seems to understand this as he holds the door open a little bit further to allow himself to step out into the hallway with Louis.

"I know what you're going to say, and I know I'm creating a really bad first impression of myself but I can't fucking get rid of him!" Harry bumbles and Louis cocks his head on the side because he hasn't got half of the story and he is slightly confused but that isn't the point right now, "I'll come over as soon as possible, but it doesn't look good at the moment, he won't leave--"

"Wait, who are you talking abou--"  
  
"Harold, who are you talking to darling?!" A voice from inside slurs (it's only eight in the evening, how are they drunk  _already?_ ) and it is definitely a man speaking, not a woman like the sentence's vocabulary would indicate.

"Fuck my life." Harry mutters under his breath before a man comes to the door, and Louis is almost struck of breath at the beauty of this guy.

"Ooh, who is this little minx then?" The guy swings his arm up and over the broad expanse of Harry's shoulders as he appears and stares directly at Louis, "Harold, don't you know it's rude not to invite your door-guests inside? Especially when they're as pretty as this one." The man uses his other hand to gesture to Louis and Louis wants to take a small step back due to the horrible smell of alcohol but he can't, simply because he is so intrigued by the attractiveness of his facial features.

"Louis, meet Zayn. Zayn, this is Louis, he lives just down the hall."

"Aren't you a lucky one then Harry, getting to see this little one every day, hm?" Zayn winks and Louis has determined now that he is most definitely weirded out, no matter how attractive Harry's supposed 'friend' is. By the way that Harry was trying to explain frantically how Zayn won't leave, Louis realises that he probably isn't a very warmly welcomed house guest. When no one says anything Zayn takes that as his turn to pipe up again, eyes never seeming to lie still for a moment as they scan Louis's body up and down and up and down and up and-- "So Hazza, where we heading out tonight then, what with your, whats it called, um..." Zayn falls silent as he searches for the word.

"Housewarming?" Louis offers and Zayn stands upright again in what seems like a gesture of recollection.

"That's the word, housewarming! So yeah, where we headed?"

"Well, um, Zayn, I kinda have to be somewhere buddy. It was nice seeing you, but I kinda have to go?" It's phrased as a question almost when Harry says it, his voice raising at the end of his sentence. Zayn simply nods and disappears, leaving Harry and Louis in the corridor, awkwardness looming.

"Guess that he's sorted then?" Louis questions and Harry nods, clearing his throat.

"I think so, I'll go in and round him up, I'll be over in five minutes, okay?" There is an ever-looming fondness now that surrounds the two men that anyone with a right mind would be able to see. Harry disappears and Louis turns on his heel, slowly walking back to his apartment, wondering whether Harry's definition of 'five' will be more along the lines of an hour.

 

\---

 

It comes to realization that Harry really only did mean five minutes, and as the time encroaches to 8:29pm, an abrupt knock on the door pulls Louis away from where he is sat very unhelpfully on the sofa with a can of 7-Up and fills his stomach with something other than lime-flavored carbonated fizziness. Instead there is apprehension and he doesn't realise that he is stood at the door until Harry is smiling down at him, a bottle of wine in his hand (which looks slightly blistered - his hand, not the bottle - presumably from the whole soup incident) and the same cable knit sweater shoved on.

"Hi." The word is simple and soft and Louis smiles up at him as he ushers their new neighbor inside, "Um, about just now, I'm really sorry about Zayn."

"Don't, it's fine." It's not really, Louis doesn't know why he feels that it isn't and saying it is, but he is.

"He's not usually like that, he turned up at my apartment really drunk at half seven when I was just about to come over here and I couldn't get away, I'm sorry."

"You sure do apologize a lot, don't you?" The mood is instantly lightened when Louis makes small humor and shuts the door behind Harry, taking the bottle of wine that looks super-expensive from his hand and setting it down on the living room table as they pass it.

Louis shows Harry around a bit, making sure not to go anywhere near his own room as it is a complete mess, and avoids the kitchen too, deciding to leave it till last seeing as that is where Niall is. Harry takes every room in bit by bit, and by the way that his eyes are darting around from thing to thing, it's as if he can't get enough. From the paintings on the wall to the photos on the side table; the football trophies on the faux-mantelpiece to the mirror hanging above it with the weird pattern laced around the perimeter; the worn sofa with its discarded throw over the back to the various trinkets upon the coffee table that surround the wine.

When the two walk into the kitchen, Niall instantly looks up from where he is slathering a bloomer loaf with tomato paste to make Italian toasties, and Harry almost instantaneously walks straight into the dining table.

"Oh shit." He swears and Louis muffles a slight laugh though it is not well done.

"Woah, steady on mate." Niall smirks as he puts down the spoon he is using and wipes his slightly floured hands on his jeans, walking forwards to where Harry is stood limply, "You must be Harry."

"Yeah, I am. And you're Neil? Niall?"

"Niall. Definitely not Neil." He walks back to resume what he is doing, picking up the spoon once again and moving onto the second bloomer loaf, lathering it with the pasata again, "Hope you're not allergenic to anything here."

Casually, the motion he makes spreads over the various ingredients that scatter the table top. Louis takes a look too even though he knows exactly what Niall is using to make his Italian toasties; he's had them before and they are amazing, like seriously the best thing he's ever had that can be classed as savory. A bottle of olive oil stands upright next to a chunk of provolone cheese as well as a ball of mozzarella and the bowl of half-full sundried tomato paste. Ham from Wiltshire lies in a packet (Louis can tell you that it is easily the best ham that you can buy, nothing else compares to it) as well as several bowls of common pizza toppings. Antipasto peppers, artichokes, aubergine slices, olives; they're all there and are all equally as tasty as the next.

"Not allergic to anything, you're good." Harry stands awkwardly still, and Louis decides to rid him of that quickly.

"Do you want to come into the lounge?" He asks as he walks towards a cupboard, wanting to reach two wine glasses.

Niall is back in his element, now layering up the different toppings, completely oblivious to everyone else in the room. The height is too much for Louis, and even on his tiptoes he can't reach them, and he hears an almost keen laugh behind him and the faint tickle of hot air on the back of his neck. Spinning round, Louis finds himself nearly trapped between Harry's body and the counter behind him, just standing in awe as Harry reaches to get the glasses that Louis had struggled to get.

"Seriously, I may not be staring, but you two have so much sexual tension for people who only just met." Niall pipes up and Harry seems to jump a foot back, the wine glasses in hand. 

"Fuck off Niall." Louis swears only for his housemate to chuckle.

The two then decide to reside in the living room, both trying to block out the words that Niall had just uttered to them. Louis flops down onto the sofa where he had been sat before answering the door to the lanky freak that was now stood behind him, wine glasses firmly held in his hands (that Louis had noticed were super-massive. Harry's hands, not the wine glasses). Casually, he tries to reach across the coffee table to get his hands on the television remote that is now somehow lying face down on the floor, but halfway through nearly sliding off the side of the furniture, Louis realises it was probably a better idea to just stand up and get it instead.

"Um, are you alright?" Harry sounds a bit worried for Louis and Louis rolls his eyes at himself because what the fuck is he doing?

"Yeah, brilliant."

"If you're this clumsy sober, I hate to think what you're like when you're plastered." Harry laughs and then sits down next to Louis who is now recovered and sat upright once again, attempting to retain composure and failing quite dramatically because the smell of Harry's cologne is actually permeating everything and his brain is going fuzzy for heaven's sake.

"Excuse you, I do not get 'plastered'." Louis fills the last word with air quotes, hooking both his index on middle finger on both hands around the open air around his face, "Only mildly drunk."

"Mildly drunk and plastered are the same thing." Harry raises and eyebrow and Louis just huffs sarcastically and reaches out again for the bottle of wine before dramatically taking off the top of it, putting the lid on the table, "Well, I guess they are anyway, I don't really know the difference."

In the midst of it all, Louis had totally forgotten the whole pain thing with Harry, and suddenly it hits him again, the conversation from earlier, the soup pan. It's like he's driven into a brick wall and the whiplash from the seat-belt is bruising everything, his chest searing with pain. And that really is ironic.

"You don't know the difference?"

"Well I do, but I just don't know whether the aftereffects are the same or not."

Louis whips to face Harry, holding the alcohol bottle by its neck, a drop of the wine dripping over the lip and slipping down the exterior.

"You don't get hangovers?!" The statement sounds completely audacious and Louis probably looks more stunned than he should, "Like, you could drink as much as you want and it wouldn't matter to you?!"

"Well, not to my head, but my liver would probably fucking hate me." Harry leans back into the plushness of the sofa and crosses one leg over the over, "Besides, I don't even drink all that much."

"You're such a lucky bastard." Louis mutters and then pours one glass of wine, careful not to fill it too much to the brim because he's done that once and now there is a permanent stain hidden under the rug in his bedroom, "I would drink so much if I didn't feel sick to my stomach the next day, like, I have such a bad alcohol tolerance."

"Is that so?" Harry mutters to himself and the way that he says it makes Louis feel super weird but not in a way like 'oh my goodness he's such a pervert' but more like an 'oh my goodness he's so alluring fuck me now' kind of way. The smirk that Harry pairs with the words also doesn't help the willing down of the current boner Louis is having to perform.

The silence that follows isn't as unnerving as a silence usually is for Louis, instead it is comfortable and almost pleasant if a silence could be so. It seems to engulf the two as they sit on the sofa, absent-mindlessly watching reruns of various episodes of Russell Howard's Good News and drinking wine like the mature men they are trying to be.

Louis can't help but marvel in the various aspects of Harry; the way that his hands curve around the inlet of the wine glass, the way that the wine seems to make his lips even fuller and add a tinge of red to them, the way his legs seem to go on forever as he sits with one led over the top of the other so casually. It would usually be weird for Louis to even be thinking these many things about a guy when he has only just met him.

It is usually the case that Louis finds himself not paying attention to a potential boyfriend until at least the third date when they've probably already slept together (Louis has low standards and sometimes he gets ashamed but then remembers he actually really doesn't give a fuck) and the 'potential boyfriend' has realized that Louis actually hasn't paid any attention and so therefore makes up some excuse like 'I'm sorry, I can't go on another date, I'm busy' or even in one case 'you're an asshat and don't pay attention to anything but yourself so I don't want to see you again'.

"Dinner is served!" A voice floats from the kitchen, along with the sound of plates being put onto a granite work surface, "We're eating at the table for once Lou."

"Oh my god, can he sound anymore like my Mum." Louis exclaims as he hauls himself upwards, Harry doing the same too and offering a shy and tentative laugh at the half question, half statement.

Dinner goes quite quickly (not just figuratively in terms of time, at the rate that Harry and Niall eat, they literally finish within just over five minutes) and afterwards the three men sit around the wooden table and sit once again in silence. This time it is an awkward, looming transparency of noise and Louis feels like he should say something, but instead Niall's tone pops up instead, offering the worst first line of conversation that could possibly be said.

"Is it true that it doesn't hurt when you get kicked in the nads?"

Louis groans and slumps slightly in his chair, diverting his eyes from Harry who looks bewildered and honestly like he wants to melt and disappear just like Louis. In a way that shows his nervousness, Harry clears his throat and plays with a loose end on his thumb nail as he raises an eyebrow and squeakily utters; "Nads?"

"Yeah, nads. Balls. Testicles. Pudenda. Whatever you like." Niall snorts as if everyone knows that 'nads' means balls, "So, it's true you can't feel it if I kicked you right now down there?"

"Niall, stop." Louis warns but his flatmate just disregards it.

"Um, I guess not." Louis almost feels proud that when Harry had answered that question earlier (Louis had phrased it much more gently though), Harry had offered him the chance to kick him in the balls and then Louis feels weird that he's getting proud over that fact, "I can't really remember if I've ever been kicked down there."

"Have you done anything else that would usually be really painful?" Niall questions and he's getting  _way_ too interested in this and Louis needs to divert the conversation soon so quickly slides his empty plate forward to Niall.

"Niall, do you want to do the dishes?"

"But I made dinne--"

"Do the dishes."

With that, Niall gets the hint and stands, leaving Louis to do the same and for Harry to aimlessly follow back into the lounge where they were previously sat.

"I'm really sorry about him. Niall's very..." The word doesn't come to his tongue.

"Forward?" Harry's laugh shows that the situation has been taken lightly and that he really doesn't mind, "I'm used to it, I have a lot of friends like that."

"Oh really, you have 'a lot of friends'?" Louis teases.

"I do actually thank you, no need to be so condescending now Louis."

"I'm sorry, it was just a little bit hard to believe."

"You're so rude!"

The banter between the two is filled with so much tension and if Louis had known Harry for at least a week more than he does at present then he would have no hesitation to grab his face and kiss him until they both were breathless and panting for oxygen as well as the longing for one another and just everything that Louis has actually longed for in a real relationship for a while now. The security, the safety, the comfort, all of it.

But with Harry and his weird painless heart, although the concept of heartbreak sounds like it shouldn't be a problem, Louis doesn't want to be the one responsible for the first person to make Harry feel real pain. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IM SORRY THAT ITS BEEN SO LONG AND THIS CHAPTER IS SHIT BUT YOU KNOW WHAT OH WELL


End file.
